


let me go (let me fall)

by kuugeki (strangestirony)



Series: torn and burnt (we still soar together) [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: (and come back to life), (to an extent.), Angst, Before Lucifer's Fall (Supernatural), Brotherly Angst, Brothers, Canon Compliant, Fallen Angel Michael (Supernatural), Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Hurt Michael (Supernatural), Hurt No Comfort, Lucifer's Fall (Supernatural), Michael whump, Not yet anyways, Sad Michael, alternative universe, but not really, god is like on the bottom of michaels priority list, haha i am cannon and i take canon and destroy it, huehuehue, lucifer was called heylel before the fall, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:07:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28755639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangestirony/pseuds/kuugeki
Summary: Like the Big Bang—the creation of Lucifer was not loud nor without brilliance. It was, instead, instantaneous and deafeningly silent. It was, instead, the worst event to happen in all of Michael's existence.
Relationships: Lucifer & Michael (Supernatural)
Series: torn and burnt (we still soar together) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2108193
Kudos: 5





	let me go (let me fall)

**Author's Note:**

> this was a 2am mistake...

To live was an intangible concept an existence like Michael had yet to grasp and understand. Michael, long ago when he was Mikha’el, was an aimless little thing with no Heaven, no God, no brothers. Michael, once, had been curious and young, travelling across an empty universe containing nothing more than a few balls of dirt and spheres of gas to decorate the desolate space.

There was only the inescapable Dark, which had left Michael cold and absent, and the far presence of Light—his progenitor, who would later go on to be called God.

It was like going through motions without thinking. Michael had not really _thought_ , did not really feel, but had gone through flying through the universe with his sets of wings, leaving behind glittering stardust in their wake, touching the balls of soil and unearthly things with the tips of his fingers. _(Some had bloomed under his touch, calloused and careless. Some had not been able to withstand his roughness and collapsed in on itself like a flimsy house of cards.)_

Michael had no aim in his existence, no purpose. He had only trailed after the littered creations of the Light, his creator, in muted curiousity and watched as life sprouted from the Being, coming to touch and learn—to feel for a small moment, when the creator left.

_(Sometimes, Michael did think. Wondered, really, why some of these creations, some of these planets as his creator had murmured once, some of these stars had seemed deformed. Incomplete. Why did the creator leave them so? Crying out for that missing puzzle piece, but never deemed worthy for the relief?)_

It would be a long time before Michael had a real purpose—other than to drift aimlessly across the filling void, carefully averting his path form the Dark which seemed intangible, yet hard and clear as crystals.

_(He had tried, once. Michael had tried to fix them, create the piece they were missing. He had been gentle as he could, but they still shattered.)_

And a long time came, in the form of the Creator finding him once more, illuminating the cold Darkness with their light. Behind the Light, had come _Heylel_. It was like a breath of fresh air—or drinking water after being parched for so long. Michael had been an aimless, dehydrated existence, seeing the same expanse of dark, light and shattered stars he had tried so hard to fix, but Heylel was like a balm to his existence. _(And Heylel was his. To care for, to teach and to guide.)_

Once, Michael— _Mikha’el—_ had been an purposeless, almost soulless little thing. Now, they had soared the skies together, soared across all of space as Heylel learned and grew, touching the stars Michael had once shattered and _completing them_.

Perhaps, Michael did not have a purpose, still—in the wide universe that only consisted of such young and ignorant creations and half-formed ideas. But, he had Heylel and that was enough.

* * *

Humans, once they were created, had many theories on how they existed—how life as they know it, down to the very laws that governed their plane of existence and the molecules that made them up, had been created. Some followed religions that sprouted from formed concepts, that entailed of man being molded from clay.

Michael supposed the most accurate one would be the Big Bang. While he was not old enough, not even created yet, when Light and Dark came into existence— _perhaps they were always there?—_ but he knew that most of the universe had come from atoms either messily strewn together by their Creator in his earlier stages of experiments, or atoms placed carefully by one of them—the Archangels, as they flew across the empty universe and _created_.

The Big Bang, as Michael had taken to calling it, was one of the most joyous moments in his existence. _(His brothers were all alive, they were all happy—content to just fly together with their six wings and let life come together, an echo of the creator.)_

_(Michael had come to realize—after years of flying alone again across a filled universe, where ghosts of the past had come to echo and whisper to him, where when he flew, he could still feel the stardust from all of the stars he had shattered when he was the only one, had sifted through his worn wings—why he could not fill the gap and complete those failed planets and fragmented stars._

_It was because he was alone. Without Heylel, Raphael and Gabriel._

_In a way, Michael was like those failed planets and fragmented stars. Without all three of his brothers, he was incomplete and hollow. He felt lost, like he once did.)_

But, Michael had come to realize that it didn't last. Nothing lasted. _(The first death was not of sentient life—not really. It was not even the Dark, when their Creator, the Light—God, as he had taken to call himself, had pushed the Dark back and caged her.)_

_(It was Michael, who cemented the concept of Death, in the darkness of space. Alone and ignorant. Curious and drifting. With nothing more, but stardust and the remnants of creations that came from the Light, shattered by his hands, unintentional as they may be.)_

The Big Bang was not loud, nor was it a joyous explosion of singularity. It was deafeningly silent, as all the Archangels stared at the creations and life that sprung from their collective efforts and watched in awe at the resonance.

In a way, the creation of Lucifer was like that too. Michael had watched as his purpose— _aimless and stupid, ignorant and pliable—_ Heylel had descended. Heylel— _Lucifer_ was a scorching mess as he passed planes of existence, falling through galaxies until he entered Earth's atmosphere as a shooting star and burnt up. In a way, it was deafeningly silent as Michael watched in horror and awe and everything in between— _even when falling, the Lightbringer was beautiful. Heylel will always be beautiful, as twisted as he became—_ as Lucifer fell.

He was the first shooting star and the force of his fall, left it's imprint on the last star they ever created together—as Heylel and Michael. Earth's sun.

_(In a way, Lucifer was called the Morning Star because of this.)_

In a way, Lucifer's fall was like the Big Bang. Yet, it wasn't. It was soundless as all of Heaven watched the Morning Star fall. It was over in a flash, yet it felt like a lifetime. It was, instead, the worst thing to have happened in all of Michael's existence.

_("MICHAEL!" Heylel howled as he was consumed in an inferno. Paingriefbetrayalhurthurthurthurthurt—_

_Michael could feel it all in his little brother's grace. And his own wanted to sing and reach forward for comfort, but he couldn't. I'm sorry, he wanted to say. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry._

_But, he didn't. Instead, with the power God had instilled into him—as much as it burned him as well, as he_ knew— _Michael had constructed a cage where Heylel would descend into, locked with hundreds of seals, yet needing so little of them to break for the Morning Star to come out._

_Instead, Michael had spoken and said, "Heylel, Archangel of the Lord, from this moment forward and for the rest of Creation, you are to be banished to your Cage, never to feel the warmth of Heaven again, never to feel our Father's love, to regret over your transgressions for all of eternity."_

_Instead, in the face of all of Heaven, and with their Creator looming behind Michael, like chains he could not break—like the Dark once was—Michael had chosen to forsaken his brother.)_

* * *

For an existence like Michael, who without a purpose, would drift and perhaps _saunter vaguely downwards_ , practically killing his brother to save him, was one of the worst decisions he made. Still, as war on Heaven had drawn to a close—with those who had sworn loyalty to Lucifer's cause falling purposefully and demons banished down to Hell, Michael retreated, closing himself off.

After the War, it was rare for any angel to have seen even a lick of him. Michael did not care— _for what would be the point?_

_(There was no point. Not anymore, Michael thought, bitter. Gabriel had ran away in the midst of their fighting and Raphael was all— wrong. And it was like he was back there again, in the young universe, unknowing and left to pick up the pieces of his own scattered being as he trailed behind an uncaring God._

_For Michael was broken. God had once given him a purpose that Michael had accepted and cherished, many times over, for the two had come after Heylel—and he had shattered it._

_He was so so tired, finally—after millions of years, of light laughter and stars expanding with the collective touch of four, to the many graces that burnt up and wings of brothers lost, scorched. Michael was once again, hallow and incomplete._

_He could not heal Raphael, nor could he bring back Gabriel.)_

_(His fault his fault his fault.)_

Once, they had been complete. Then, Michael had kicked Heylel off, leaving him to fall as Michael's scalding flames had scorched and burnt Heylel's wings into mangled messes. Now, they were scattered and fractured and Michael was exhausted.

Once, he had burnt off Heylel's wings. Now, as he was, Michael would tear off his own.

_(For without Heylel, there cannot be Michael.)_

_(It was not repentance, but it was an apology.)_   
  
  
  


**let me go (let me fall)**   
**[end.]**

**Author's Note:**

> this also took so many times to write since i was so unsatisfied with everything... but i was going to cry my eyes out so here this is (i'm so rusty at writing.) so many things i had wanted to add were not mentioned, but here we are.


End file.
